You may or may not care about how precise your metaphors are but . . .

Do you really want "across the blood and flesh?" Decorations can't go on blood. And usually not on flesh either. Unless society in this metaphor is Rambo or something, all bloodied with his clothes torn up, but with some sort of victory sash. Or a beauty queen who cut herself?

vpintz wrote:They're both awkward and unnecessarily purple prose-y. Where's the "none of the above" option?

i looked through his post history and found the full version:

They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across my fucking blood and flesh.

vpintz wrote:They're both awkward and unnecessarily purple prose-y. Where's the "none of the above" option?

i looked through his post history and found the full version:

They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be. They are decorations draped across my fucking blood and flesh.

thsmthcrmnl wrote:You may or may not care about how precise your metaphors are but . . .

Do you really want "across the blood and flesh?" Decorations can't go on blood. And usually not on flesh either. Unless society in this metaphor is Rambo or something, all bloodied with his clothes torn up, but with some sort of victory sash. Or a beauty queen who cut herself?

I know this isn't nice but going on the last sentence it does not sound very good...I cannot even imagine what you're talking about. All that aside though, I would be happy to read your 250 if you pm it to me. I'm not nice but I edit books for a living so I think I could maybe give you good feedback.

weezer21 wrote:I know this isn't nice but going on the last sentence it does not sound very good...I cannot even imagine what you're talking about. All that aside though, I would be happy to read your 250 if you pm it to me. I'm not nice but I edit books for a living so I think I could maybe give you good feedback.

Remember when Weezer was cool? Yea, me either, and I’m the lead singer. I wish I’d done something more productive with my life. I should have finished my novel. I got so caught up in the research that I barely put a word to paper. Now, with the bitter taste of fame burning in the mixed metaphors of my memory, I have no hope of finishing my masterpiece. To think that all those years I spent cataloguing gloryholes in truck stop restrooms across the country were for naught. I have the stories, of course…a treasure trove of anecdotes embedded so deep in the soft, pliable tissue of my brain – but what are my memories worth if I never commit them to the page? If I never show the people what the world is really like? If I never publish Balls to the Wall: Rivers of Semen, my opus? Look, no publisher is going to take me seriously with a title like that, unless I have a degree from fucking Yale. So let’s do this, because otherwise my life has been a complete waste of time. What else do I have, really? Some industry awards? Some platinum albums? Accolades in Rolling Stone? Meaningless. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be.

weezer21 wrote:I know this isn't nice but going on the last sentence it does not sound very good...I cannot even imagine what you're talking about. All that aside though, I would be happy to read your 250 if you pm it to me. I'm not nice but I edit books for a living so I think I could maybe give you good feedback.

Remember when Weezer was cool? Yea, me either, and I’m the lead singer. I wish I’d done something more productive with my life. I should have finished my novel. I got so caught up in the research that I barely put a word to paper. Now, with the bitter taste of fame burning in the mixed metaphors of my memory, I have no hope of finishing my masterpiece. To think that all those years I spent cataloguing gloryholes in truck stop restrooms across the country were for naught. I have the stories, of course…a treasure trove of anecdotes embedded so deep in the soft, pliable tissue of my brain – but what are my memories worth if I never commit them to the page? If I never show the people what the world is really like? If I never publish Balls to the Wall: Rivers of Semen, my opus? Look, no publisher is going to take me seriously with a title like that, unless I have a degree from fucking Yale. So let’s do this, because otherwise my life has been a complete waste of time. What else do I have, really? Some industry awards? Some platinum albums? Accolades in Rolling Stone? Meaningless. They are decorations draped across the blood and flesh of a society that, like me, is far more than what it appears to be.